


Snippets

by arcticnewt



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Gen, Newt is the Winter Soldier, URL based drabbles, multifandom - Freeform, really messy idk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 21:47:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1580669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcticnewt/pseuds/arcticnewt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles I posted on tumblr- based off other people's urls. Mostly The Maze Runner related, but a few Marvel related as well...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. thewinterglader

"He is the last variable," Whisper the people in the streets. "When you see him, you will know. His eyes are like winter. And he kills like the winter- cold and ruthless, uncaring."

When Minho saw Newt, he almost collapsed in relief- his friend, his best friend was alive.

But that was before he noticed that his eyes weren’t summer streams anymore.

They were wintry icicles that pierced his soul- his cold, indifferent gaze sending shivers up Minho’s spine.

"He’s not Newt anymore, Minho." The voices would say.

The Asian Glader had his face in his hands and his shoulders shook.

Why- how- Newt?

His friend. His Glader. His brother.

"WICKED twisted him. They cured him- then they twisted him. They turned him into that- the perfect assassin," they’d tell him.

"Shut up!" Minho would yell, his screams echoing around them. "Shut up! He’s Newt. He’s still one of us. Our brother. A Glader."

But he soon learned the hard way that he was wrong.

"Newt! Don’t hurt him!" Thomas would yell, throwing a knife at him.

The winter-eyed boy would simply fling him away and catch the knife. “Who the hell is Newt?” He’d snarl- and flick the knife back at Thomas, the other boy weakly rolling out of the way.

The winter-eyed boy paid no heed to Thomas’ movement, instead whirling around and pointing a gun straight at Minho.

"I’m the Winter Soldier, and you, Subject A7, are my mission."

Those words would haunt Minho for the rest of his life- because that was when it hit him.

Newt was gone- and this- Winter Soldier stood in his place; the place of a Glader, his brother.


	2. parkerosborns

Peter Parker couldn’t sleep.

Most nights, he lay awake in bed- thousands of thoughts running through his mind.

None that would let him sleep.

He would think about Gwen, his parents, all the people who’s lives he hadn’t been able to save. He would think about Norman Osborn and he would think about Max Dillon.

But tonight?

His thoughts swirled around azure eyes- and the person who owned them.

Harry Osborn- and the two versions of him that existed in Peter’s life.

First was his Harry.

The kid he had grown up with, the boy with manservants at his beck and call. The teenager with supermodels at his heels and movie stars on speed dial.

The smug, smirky, genius bastard that Peter had grown up with. The one that always had a witty remark that would get them out of trouble. The possessive child that would demand to sue any of the playground kids that even tried to shove Peter off the swing.

The best friend with the rare cheshire smile that Peter had loved- still loved, if he was being honest with himself.

The deep, intelligent blue eyes that gleamed with just a hint of mad genius- embedded in a face of beautiful, pale skin.   
His Harry- forever lost to him.

What remained was the Green Goblin.

Not exactly a shadow of his Harry, in Peter’s opinion. The Green Goblin was every bit as brilliant and as his Harry-just a thousand times more insane.

It was the Green Goblin- not Harry-that had killed Gwen. It was the Green Goblin that had hurt him.

It was the Green Goblin,not his Harry that was evil.

Maybe it was the disease that pushed him to that point- Or maybe it was Peter.

It might have been both.

Peter never wanted to find out.

But the Green Goblin was still Harry, wasn’t it? Or, a version of him. A Harry twisted by disease and rage, but still the owner of those azure eyes.

If his Harry was lost to him forever- well, Peter would take what he could get. And if that was the Green Goblin-

So be it.


	3. flarednewt

In his last moments of sanity, Newt found himself thinking of a boy.

He remembered a boy with dark hair and kind eyes. Pale skin and long fingers.

What was his name-

Tim?

Tom?

Tommy.

He remembered he left him a note- asking for what? For- for death?

Death.

Didn’t that sound nice right now?

He could feel the slow burn of fireeating away his brain. He could feel the collapse of every single cell of his brain.

He could feel himself crumbling. He could see it every time he walked by a mirror, a window. He could see it in his reflection in another crank’s manic eyes. He could feel it in his bones, in his heart-

He couldn’t feel anything in his brain anymore.

Nothing but the burn.

His last sane thought—

Wherever you are, please, Tommy, please—

Find me.

Then kill me.

 


	4. teengreenie

"Hey, Chuckie." Newt gave the Greenbean a small smile.

"Newt, right?" Chuck looked up at the Glade’s second in command, his curly hair falling in his eyes. "Ya decided on what job you guys are givin’ me?"

The blonde shook his head, plopping down on the ground beside Chuck. “Nah, that ain’t why I’m here- I was just wonderin’ about somethin’,”

"Why would you be coming to me?" Chuck asked, confusion in his stare. "I’m the Greenbean, as you shanks call me,"

The Glader words felt weird on his tongue.   
“Ya look twelve-ish ta’ me,” Newt mumbled.

"What?"

Chuck heard him- clear as a bell. But he didn’t understand.

"I know for a fact that ya’ can’t remember when your birthday is- none of us bloody can," Newt said with a sad smile. "So I’m declarin’ today as your birthday. Call me silly o’ somethin’, but-"

An image of cake and candles and oresents came to the front of Chuck’s mind- and he gave a small, delighted laugh.

"Happy thirteenth birthday," Newt said, his face brightening at Chuck’s delighted laugh. "You’re a bloody teenager."

 


	5. wckedminho

I am Minho, Keeper of the Runners.

That was the silent mantra he repeated in his head as WICKED’s scientists stared at him with confusion, typing on their machines.

Apparently, the Maze had made him too rebellious for their purposes.

They wanted to change that.

I am Minho, Keeper of the Runners, he’d tell himself.

He could hear them talking about his brain waves and patters and all that- talking about the changes they wanted to make so that his brain waves would show what they needed.

What behavioral patterns they’d need to adjust.

As if he’s let them.

I am Minho, Keeper of the Runners.

"Wipe him." They’d murmur,cold eyes staring at him like a lab rat. "Reprogram his resistance,"

I am Minho, Keeper of the Runners, he’d think as he fought against them. As they strapped him to a table and fitted a machine over his head.

I am Minho, Keeper of the Runners-

I am Minho, Keeper of the-

I am Minho, Keeper-  
  
I am-

I-

I am Minho, Subject A7- Property of WICKED.


	6. monsieurminho

_"Salut."_

Minho suppressed a groan. Sitting in front of him was the  _sexiest_ person alive- the French exchange student. Pale skin, lean figure,  _dazzling_ brown eyes and the filthiest smirk Minho had ever seen in his life. 

"I don’t speak French!" He said exasperatedly. "You fucking sexy French bastard,"

_"Je t’aime bien."_

_"What?"_ Minho agitatedly ran a hand through his hair. “I think you’re just mocking me now- do you speak English?

_"Je parle anglais."  
_

Oh fuck, his voice dropped even lower. How did this guy’s voice sound so sexy? Stupid French accent, stupid hot boys with stupid accents.

"Stop fucking around with me."

"I haven’t even started," the French exchange student smirked, enjoying the spluttering that came from Minho as the English words left his lips. "I used to live in America- I’m Thomas, by the way."

"I- uh," Minho blushed, turning bright red. Oh shit, this hot guy understood everything he was saying. "I- ah- sorry-"

 _"Allez, Monsieur."_ Thomas retorted, taking Minho by the wrist and smirking devilishly. “Show me to my dormitory- the bedroom specifically,  _oui?”_


End file.
